


Oh Lately It’s So Quiet

by LaLionne (otayuriistheliteralbest)



Series: Drarropoly 2019 [9]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Dirty Talk, Frottage, M/M, Masturbation, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Songfic, Stripper Draco Malfoy, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Telepathic Sex, sex work positivity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:47:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21864106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otayuriistheliteralbest/pseuds/LaLionne
Summary: It had been years since Harry had thought about Draco Malfoy, and it seemed as if the whole world had moved on without him, Harry along with them. So when he started to hear whispers and cries that sounded far too familiar that wound their way through Number 12 Grimmauld Place, he tried to investigate.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Drarropoly 2019 [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1545736
Comments: 1
Kudos: 106
Collections: Drarropoly 2.0 - A Drarry Game/Fest





	Oh Lately It’s So Quiet

**Author's Note:**

> I bent this prompt as far as it could go because I don't like writing horror or ghost fics, so have a haunting sexy fic! xD I mean, c'mon, with song inspiration like THAT, how could I write anything BUT lemons?? Thank you to francowitch and Sugaredsundrop for looking this over and cheering me on!
> 
> **Base Prompt:** No one has seen or heard from him in years. So why does Harry keep hearing the ranting, raving, whispering and wailing cries of Draco Malfoy throughout 12 Grimmauld Place? Minimum: 488 words - Maximum: 908 words.  
**House Prompt:** Song Inspo: "Oh Lately It's So Quiet" by OK Go! - Minimum: 1288 words - Maximum: 1812 words.  
**Hotel Prompt:** Choose either <del>1) the 5 times + 1 format</del> -OR- 2) Incorporate the song lyrics. Minimum: 4128 words - Maximum: 4882 words. 
> 
> I highly recommend listening to the two OK Go songs used in this fic while reading to really get the vibe of the piece.  

> 
> [Oh Lately It’s So Quiet](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bc0cSWg6VkE)  
[A Million Ways](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N7nFX6c0oIc)  


_ (Oh no) Oh lately it's so quiet in this place _

_ You're not 'round every corner _

_ (oh no) Oh lately it's so quiet in this place _

_ So darlin' if you’re not here haunting me _

_ I’m wondering... _

* * *

It had been years since Harry had thought about Draco Malfoy, and it seemed as if the whole world had moved on without him, Harry along with them. So when he started to hear whispers and cries that sounded far too familiar that wound their way through Number 12 Grimmauld Place, he tried to investigate.

It wasn’t that he really believed that Malfoy was haunting his already-haunted townhome, hell, as far as Harry knew, Malfoy had made his way to France after he was found innocent of war crimes, because the British wizarding community had a long memory, and were slow to forgive if they deemed you in the wrong. There was no way that something had happened to Malfoy, of all people. _ Was there…? _

* * *

_ Whose house, are you haunting tonight? _

_ Aw. Whose sheets you twist _

_ Aw. Whose face you kiss _

_ Whose house, are you haunting tonight? _

* * *

Harry took to wandering from room to room, the walls and floorboards now scrubbed clean by Kreacher, long since returned from his stint at Hogwarts and very happy to have his solitude and peace with Harry and his old mistress’s portrait, when Harry couldn’t stop the old house elf from opening the curtains to talk to her.

It was there, that low hum of noise that he couldn’t mistake for anyone else. It was definitely Draco Malfoy, that he was certain of, but the words made no sense, muted and incoherent.

_ “Harry...please, I can’t...help me…” _

Malfoy had never called him by his first name, never alone anyway, and that breathless tone confused Harry, because he had never heard the other man speak in that tone of voice before.

* * *

_ (Oh no) I don’t think much about you anymore _

_ You're not on every whisper, oh _

_ (Oh no) I don’t think much about you _

_ But if you're not lurking behind every curtain _

_ I’m wondering... _

* * *

It was driving him batty. Night after night, all Harry could hear was that voice over and over again in his head. Malfoy followed him everywhere he went in Grimmauld Place, unable to find the source of the voice. He had even cornered Kreacher in the kitchen in a moment of desperation, but the old house elf either couldn’t hear the voice or just didn’t care to tell Harry, and dinner that night had been slightly burnt in protest.

The first time the voice changed again, Harry had been about to take a sip of camomile tea, lounging in his bed and slowly falling to sleep. So at first he thought that he must be on the verge of sleep, because there was no way that Malfoy would say his name like _ that. _

_ “Merlin, fuck, Harry, yes. Harder, I won’t break, I need—” _

A choked-off, muffled cry followed shortly after from the ghostly voice, Harry’s teacup had fallen to the ground, already forgotten as he squirmed out of his boxers, his erection straining just simply at the sounds he had heard Malfoy making. He didn’t know what was happening, but he was beyond caring just yet. Harry bit his lip as he pulled back his foreskin, the head of his cock already leaking. He cast a quick lubricating charm on his hand and twisted his palm around the head, hips jerking involuntarily at the nearly-overwhelming sensations. Harry came embarrassingly quickly from the combination of sounds he could hear in Malfoy’s voice, the gasps and moans that seemed to get louder the faster his hand flew over his cock, and he came with Malfoy’s name on his lips.

* * *

_ Whose house, are you haunting tonight? _

_ Aw. Whose name you hiss _

_ Aw. Whose clenching fists _

_ Whose house, are you haunting tonight? _

* * *

The voice changed after that first time Harry caved in to the temptation, becoming more pronounced, giving direction in a way that Harry swore was more than just the ranting, raving sounds of a...ghost? A figment of his imagination? Whatever it was, he felt watched, and it set his belly to burning with desire. It got to the point where he welcomed the haunting voice, craving it.

One day, it finally got to be too much to bear. Harry was sweating and shaking, coming down from the high of the best orgasm of his life. His body shook, overwhelmed with the release of tension. A pecking sound came at his bedroom window, and Harry looked over to see an owl he didn’t recognise, a small scroll tied to its leg. He groaned and Vanished the sticky evidence of his activities, tossing on the pair of boxers that had fallen to the floor in his haste to shuck them.

* * *

_ Now whose house, are you haunting tonight? _

_ Aw. Who can't resist _

_ Aw. Who’s cryin' _

_ Whose house, are you haunting tonight? _

* * *

Harry cracked open the window and the small owl tumbled in, perching on his shoulder and holding out its leg for him to untie the missive. Harry complied, petting the little bird as he cracked the seal. It was short, only a few lines of scrawled text, but it flipped Harry’s world upside down.

_ Harry— _

_ I’m thinking we should talk. If you want to meet, reply to this owl. I’m at the Lilac Ostrich Parlour on Hideaway Alley most nights. You’re welcome to stop by. _

_ —Draco _

Harry had heard of Hideaway Alley— it was in another part of London separate from Diagon and Knockturn Alleys, and a rather apt name for what it was. Now it all made sense, why Harry hadn’t seen Draco for years, if he were working there. That was where the strip clubs and gay bars alike were located, a safe haven as well for anyone who didn’t feel safe in the more typical areas of Wizarding London. 

The little owl who had delivered the note rubbed its head against Harry’s jaw, chirping contentedly. He gave it a distracted pat on the head and walked down the hall to his office. He cracked open the owl treat tin and spilled some out onto the surface of the desk for the owl, who happily swooped down to attack the treats with gusto. He jotted a quick note back to Malfoy, agreeing to meet the following night, and tied it to the owl’s leg once it had finished its meal. It gave him one last little head-bump and took off through the window he opened for it, winging its way back to a man that had confused Harry for over half their lives. 

* * *

_ Aw. Whose name you hiss _

_ Aw. Whose sheets you twist _

_ Whose house, are you haunting tonight? _

* * *

Harry had explored Hideaway Alley a couple of times since coming out to his friends, but he had been too embarrassed to go into any of the strip clubs, sticking to the more prominent bars on the main drag. The Lilac Ostrich Parlour was, without a doubt, the most ostentatious of the gay strip clubs in Hideaway Alley. Everything was decadent in rich purple damask fabrics and glittering jewels. Harry had to wonder just what it was that Malfoy did here—was he a bartender? Or did he perform?

His question was answered as soon as he turned the corner after paying the bouncer at the front. The acts were just about to switch, the last performer a tall, skinny man who wore only the tiniest of thongs covered in glittering green sequins. He wasn’t Harry’s type, but he appreciated the view as the man turned and walked away, heels clacking on the boards of the stage. Harry found a seat in the packed room, off to the side but close enough to the stage to have a good view.

The next song started, a low, thrumming beat that was a whisper of want, pulling at Harry’s core. He leaned forward in the plush chair in anticipation as Draco Malfoy stepped onstage.

* * *

_ Sit back, _

_ Matter of fact, _

_ Teasing, toying, turning, chatting, _

_ Charming, hissing, playing the crowd _

* * *

The way Malfoy’s body moved to the beat of the music was hypnotic, and Harry’s focus narrowed to the sway of his hips, the roll of his body to the steady beat of the blood pumping through Harry’s body. He leaned forward subconsciously, his full attention on the man on stage whom Harry’s mind was readjusting its mental image of with this new information.

Multilayered silk and chiffon in reds and oranges draped artfully around Malfoy’s body, accenting the curves of his body. The fabric fell loosely from silver clasps at his wrists, and every turn revealed a hint of the creamy white skin of his legs. He spun around and around on bare feet, every bit of him filled with a dancer’s grace that would have brought tears to Harry’s eyes were it not for the overtly sensual power of the dance.

As Malfoy danced, the layers of flowing fabrics fell from his body. He teased the crowd with them, a knowing smirk on painted red lips. The dance ended with a final flourish, and Malfoy flung himself gracefully to the stage, wearing nothing but a thin red thong studded over with rhinestones in a pattern evocative of a flame.

* * *

_ Play that song again _

_ Another couple Klonopin, _

_ A nod, a glance, a half-hearted bow_

* * *

The beat of the music changed then, and where Malfoy had been filled with a dancer’s grace before, it was nothing like he was now. He flipped over and crawled to the edge of the stage, so close that the man sitting there could touch him if he just reached out. Malfoy writhed on the stage in a sensual beat. As men from the audience threw galleons and sickles to the stage, Malfoy gave them a moment of his time, hips thrusting into the air or turning to spread his cheeks, showing just the hint of his hole, barely concealed behind the string of the ruby red thong.

* * *

_ Oh such grace, _

_ Oh such beauty, _

_ And lipstick and callous and fishnets and malice _

_ Oh darling, _

_ You're a million ways to be cruel _

_ You're a million ways to be cruel _

_ You're a million ways to be cruel _

* * *

Then the voice started in his head again, Malfoy’s needy voice that had been filling Harry’s mind with lust. He had thought that it was something in Grimmauld Place, but it rang so crystal clear in his mind.

_ “Ung, Harry, fuck, please...more, more!” _

Harry focused his hazy attention on Malfoy’s face, and there was a flush to it that he hadn’t seen there previously. Malfoy’s movements turned more erotic, his eyes fluttering closed as he ran his hands all over well-toned muscles. His breaths came in stuttering gasps, and Harry’s cock, already half-hard from the erotic display that Malfoy was making on the stage, was suddenly, achingly hard. He wanted to pull aside the string of the thong that Malfoy was wearing, wanted to press his tongue against Malfoy, make him filthy until he was gasping, begging for Harry to fill him up in all the ways Harry had been imagining ever since Malfoy’s voice first whispered in his mind.

_ “Fuck yes, please, I want your cock in me…” _

Harry shifted in his seat, trying to adjust his erection without anyone else in the darkened room noticing. Unlike in Grimmauld Place, where he would only hear Malfoy’s whispered desires and dirty thoughts, he could hear the slap of skin on skin. His cheeks warmed at the realization of the sounds he was hearing, and just how much he craved that contact with Malfoy.

The music ended, and Malfoy posed, one hand raised to his face, the other partially covering his obvious erection, straining at the confines of the thong. There must have been a charm on the scrap of fabric, because Harry couldn’t see any other way for it to so perfectly cover Malfoy without slipping.

Coins showered the stage as Malfoy turned to walk off, glancing over his shoulder as he was about to leave to give the audience a hearty wink.

Or more specifically, to look straight at Harry, the meaning clear in his gaze.

* * *

_ I should, I wish I could _

_ Maybe if you were, I would _

_ A list of standard issue regrets _

_ One last eighty proof, _

_ Slouching in the corner booth, _

_ Baby it's as good as it gets _

* * *

In a way, Harry wasn’t at all surprised when the waiter appeared at his elbow, a muscular man who clearly worked out, often. Harry eyed his sequined black booty shorts appreciatively, then turned his attention back to his face. The man smirked and leaned down to whisper in Harry’s ear, a murmur of sound over the general chatter of the customers in the club.

“Drake bids you come to his dressing room. He doesn’t have another performance for an hour or so, so right away would be best.”

Harry nodded and followed the waiter to a set of curtains to the side of the bar. A bouncer stood there looking menacing, but with a word from the waiter, he let Harry pass. The waiter followed after him, stopping just inside the hallway that had been hidden by the thick drapes. It was dimly lit, much like the room they had just left, and the walls were covered with a simple red wallpaper that made Harry think of lust and money. The perfect atmosphere for the place, though it was much simpler than the main room that they had just vacated, since presumably their clientele weren’t normally allowed back here.

“I need to get back to the floor, but just turn left and go to the end of the hall. You can’t miss it.”

Harry nodded his thanks and tipped the waiter a silver sickle for the trouble. He thanked Harry with a bright smile and a wave, and Harry turned to walk down the corridor, to hopefully get the answers to all his questions.

* * *

_ Oh such grace, _

_ Oh such beauty, _

_ So precious, suspicious, and charming and vicious, _

_ Oh darling, _

_ Oh darling, you're a million ways _

_ Oh darling, _

_ Oh darling you're a million ways, _

* * *

The waiter had been right, of course; there was no way that Harry could miss the ostentatiously decorated room, lush and filled with sparkling jewels and drapes of fabric. Malfoy—Drake, Harry supposed, in this setting—was sprawled out on the purple velvet settee in the corner of the room, sipping at a champagne flute. A silk dressing gown with cuffs of green fur wrapped tightly around his figure, whose muscles and curves Harry felt he had memorised in the two short dances he had had the privilege to witness. 

“Harry, it’s so good to see you,” Malfoy practically purred Harry’s name, and Harry licked his lips subconsciously. “I’m known as Drake here. I have a special little glamour charm I use when I’m onstage, just to avoid unnecessary comments. I’m sure you understand.” 

Harry did, of course. He knew how, while Malfoy had been acquitted of war crimes in the fight against Voldemort, that didn’t mean that people agreed with the decision. To much of the Wizarding world, Malfoy would be forever the boy who caused Dumbledore’s death. Harry had always suspected that that was part of the reason Malfoy had disappeared so many years ago, and why he hadn’t heard any news of him in so long, not even whispers.

Malfoy set down his champagne flute and beckoned to Harry with a single outstretched hand, a flick of the wrist that was anything but magical, but drew Harry to his side almost instantly nonetheless. Malfoy’s guarded smile broadened and he shifted to sit upright, patting the space he had made on the cushion, inviting Harry to sit next to him. He did so, slowly, unsure of just what this song and dance was about. He felt like an actor who hadn’t been given a script and had been shoved onstage and expected to perform.

The moment he settled on the settee next to Malfoy, Harry felt a fizzling of energy in the air, something that he couldn’t explain if he’d been asked. The dressing gown had slipped from Malfoy’s shoulder, and Harry could see just the hint of his nipple in the recesses of the fabric. His breath caught in his throat and Malfoy’s eyes widened. Blushing, he bit his lip and watched Harry under hooded eyes. It was the first break in the facade that Harry had witnessed that evening. There was a vulnerability in the reddening of Malfoy’s cheeks that felt so very real to him, more so than anything else Malfoy had said or done.

Tentatively, Harry reached out to trace Malfoy’s jawline with fingertips that shook, ready to pull away if Malfoy’s reaction wasn’t the one he anticipated. Instead, the blond leaned into the touch, and Harry grew bolder. He leaned in, slowly, giving Malfoy time to process and push him away if he were being too forward. Instead, Harry was met halfway, their first kiss a rush of passion that had been brewing for decades. He could feel that pressure boiling over as he clung to Malfoy, pressing into his body until Harry found himself lying on top of him. Malfoy’s erection had made itself known, straining against the confines of the flimsy material that attempted to contain it. It lay thick and heavy against Harry’s clothed cock and he groaned, wanting to feel the touch of Malfoy’s naked skin against his.

Harry broke away from Malfoy’s tantalizing mouth to take a good look at him. Malfoy let out a shuddering breath and smiled wryly up at Harry, the fringe of his hair partially obscuring his eyes. Harry brushed it back, tucking the strands behind Malfoy’s ear.

“How long until your next performance?” Harry asked, voice rough with the thoughts swirling in his mind, about what he wanted to do to Malfoy, more than anything in that moment.

Malfoy scrabbled for his wand on the coffee table and cast _ Tempus. _ “Not for another half hour.”

“Good,” Harry said. “What do you want to do?”

* * *

_ Oh _

_ Oh darling, _

_ Oh darling you're a million ways to be _

* * *

Clothes were strewn across the floor like many-coloured banners proclaiming their owners’ desire. They could hear the beat of the club’s music pounding on the walls of the little room, but the lovers were in their own little bubble, and time stood still for them.

Harry pressed his lips along the curve of Draco’s bare leg, up close, so close, to where he knew he wanted his mouth the most. Instead, he reversed, nipping and kissing down the other leg. Draco cursed and squirmed in Harry’s grip.

Harry knew they didn’t have as much time as he would have liked for what he wanted to do to Draco, but he could hear whispered desires in his mind, overwhelming in the flood of emotion and proximity. He didn’t know how long he would last with what little time they had, but just as he was thinking this, the image of his tongue on Draco’s hole overpowered all of his other thoughts, and he knew that this came from Draco himself, so who was he to deny him that?

“Turn over for me and get on your knees,” Harry ordered hoarsely. Draco obeyed with shaking limbs, spreading his legs as wide as the settee would allow him. Harry didn’t hesitate. His grip tight on Draco’s cheeks, he laved his tongue from the other man’s sac to his hole, making Draco twitch and cry out. Harry worked his tongue around the tight muscle, dipping his tongue in teasingly every once in a while. 

He wrecked Draco both physically and mentally, his innermost desires coming at Harry’s mind as the pleasure built. It was finally too much for Harry, and he flipped Draco over in a fluid motion. Before Draco could protest, Harry was kissing him again, pressing down so that their cocks met between them. Harry wrapped one hand around both of their erections, slick hand flying over them until Draco cried out under him, come spurting up his stomach and chest. Harry followed not long after, collapsing on top of Draco’s limp body. 

_ “Fuck, _ that was amazing,” Harry breathed out heavily. 

Draco laughed, nuzzling into the crook of Harry’s neck contentedly. It was then that Harry realized—he couldn’t hear his thoughts in his mind anymore.

“Wait, why can’t I hear you in my head anymore? Why could I hear you in the first place?”

Draco groaned, his head falling back against the settee cushion, and poked Harry in the side. “If we’re going to talk, I want to be less sticky and at least partially clothed.”

* * *

_ Oh oh oh oh _

_ You're a million ways to be cruel _

_ You're a million ways to be cruel _

_ You're a million ways to be cruel _

* * *

A quick cleansing charm later, clothes haphazardly put back on, they settled back onto the settee, much closer and more comfortable with each other than they had been when Harry first entered the room. Draco paused for a moment and Harry could practically see the gears turning in his head before he spoke in a rush.

“I went to see a fortune teller, an old woman who works out of her living room down the street from here. She’s known for her charms and true Seeing, and I thought it was innocent enough. Life has been… well, hard, ever since the trials. And while I love my work, it’s not exactly what I saw myself doing when I was at Hogwarts.”

Harry snorted, suppressing a laugh.

_ “Any _way, this old woman asked me what I wanted, to say the first thing that came to my mind. I told her I wanted my heart’s desire, but that I didn’t really know what that even meant.” Draco traced a finger against the swirl of stitching in the cushion seat as he spoke. “She sold me a charm and told me to cast it when I returned to my home, when I was alone, and to think about what I wanted more than anything in the world when I cast the spell, and it would find its way to me.”

Draco’s face reddened as he said these words, and Harry tilted his head, curious as to what could possibly embarrass him when he stripped for strangers for a living. Harry made a questioning noise, one hand playing with Draco’s hair as he talked.

“Well, I cast the charm just as I was instructed, and was immediately overcome with the most intense desire of my life, and it was all I could do to get my clothes off fast enough. I probably came five times in half an hour, it was so intense. Meanwhile, I couldn’t stop thinking of you and your lithe hands, what you could do to me, what I could do to you. That was two weeks ago, on the dot. Sound familiar?”

Harry counted backward in his head, and came to the realization that the very first time he had heard Malfoy’s voice in his head was exactly that, two weeks prior.

Draco must have seen the dawning realization on Harry’s face. He chuckled sardonically. 

“I thought as much. It seems that little charm had some...interesting side-effects. Specifically that, if either of us thinks of the other while turned on, the other can hear those thoughts. I’ve certainly had some close calls on the stage the last week, your thoughts whispering in my mind to the point of distraction.”

“I thought I was going crazy,” Harry admitted. “I thought that you were dead and haunting me from beyond the grave and I was the only one who could hear your voice. Kreacher, my house elf, was definitely starting to give me the side-eye when I asked him if he could hear you.”

Draco laughed, and they would have gone on talking, when a rushed knock came at the door, and a muffled voice told Draco he only had five minutes until he needed to perform again. It was the waiter that had directed Harry to Draco’s dressing room, and Harry felt a mixture of annoyance and warm embarrassment at the interruption.

Draco wriggled out from under Harry, hurriedly throwing on a new skimpy outfit, complete with shimmering platform heels. He glanced over at Harry, who was stuck to the settee, mouth agape and the lust still clear on his face. Draco rolled his eyes at Harry and held out his hand to Harry to help him up.

“C’mon, you. You can’t exactly watch the show from here, and I want you front and centre for this performance. Trust me, it’ll be quite the treat.”

Harry accepted the proffered hand, holding Draco close for one brief moment. 

“What is this between us now? Is there an…_ us?” _

Draco pressed a hard and fast kiss to Harry’s lips that left him breathless all over again.

“I thought you could hear everything I was thinking about you. I know you’re not that dense, after all,” Draco teased. “I want to talk more later, but… Coffee date tomorrow morning? And then I definitely want to try more of those dirty little thoughts you’ve been having. The handcuffs were certainly an interesting one.

“And maybe send that old fortune teller a gift basket as a thank you.”

* * *

_ You're a million ways to be _

_ Cruel _

_ You're a million ways to be cruel _

_ You're a million ways to be _

_ Oh darling, you're a million ways to be cruel _

* * *

Draco certainly wasn’t wrong about the show, Harry thought as he watched from his seat at the front middle of the stage. Draco spread his legs wide, and that was when Harry noticed it. It was there, if a person knew well enough to look: just the hint of a bite mark on the inner curve of Draco’s arse, right next to his hole, now clean from the mess Harry had made of it. He blushed; he hadn’t realized he’d made any marks on Draco’s body, and Harry felt guilty for having left a visible mark on him.

All these other men could watch Draco and lust after him as much as they wanted whenever Draco was performing on that stage, but Harry knew, deep down, that Draco was his when he left the stage. Harry cheered along with the watching crowd as Draco executed a complicated move, and threw a galleon on the stage.

**Author's Note:**

> So even though it isn't shown in my profile because 3 of my fics are un-revealed in the Owl Post at the moment, this was my 100th fic on Ao3!!! :O That's so cool, and it's crazy to think that I've been writing for fandom consistently for only 3 years now. Thank you to all my readers and supporters, I love you all so much!


End file.
